Big Girls Don't Cry
by Authoresses Anonymous
Summary: All you ever wanted to know about Miss Kelly but were too afraid of her long pointy fingernails to ask. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1: Black

_Big Girls Don't Cry_

Chapter 1: Black

The color black had always had far too many meanings for Velma Kelly's taste. Black could mean darkness, depression, death, and mourning, all washed away, dulled and distorted by drink. Black was for one-night stands and lust in the places love should have been. It had so many meanings, was bound with so many memories, and none of them were good ones. Black had always been Velma Kelly's color and always would be, whether she liked it or not.  
  
She remembered a long black dress that swished mournfully as she ran from the chapel, trying to hide the small bulge of her stomach and how gingerly she moved, remembered the rain that made it stick to her trembling form, the rain that hid the single faint teardrop that danced down her ivory cheek. She remembered how she loved that rain, despite her distress. She just couldn't bear to let them see her crying.  
  
She was only seventeen, dressed in clothes that didn't fit her, and in the alleyway, she was all alone. There was nowhere for her to go. She could never go back to her father's house. Rage filled her with the very thought of her family, but how could she even call them that? _Family_, she spat, her laugh as bitter as the taste of the word on her lips.  
  
Without warning, the memories of yesterday flashed through her mind, as if they were someone else's story, a filmstrip playing before her eyes. She doubled over in rage, hatred, and pain, the world playing before her eyes in shades of black and red, as she was violently sick.  
  
She couldn't go back, not now, not ever. But she knew she had to go back, eventually. She had nowhere else to go, no one else to count on...not anymore.   
  
She savagely wiped away the single tear. _Big girls don't cry_, she told herself until it echoed in her mind like a mocking mantra. She had taught herself not to cry a long time ago. Crying was for the weak. It always served you better if you hid your vulnerabilities from the world, the enemy. _Big girls didn't cry._  
  
Her eyes remained dry and lifeless as she stared out into the cemetery. Her lips parted and a raspy whisper slipped out as if by accident._ I can't do it alone.  
_  
Velma Kelly woke from her dream to find that her eyes had betrayed her, and her pillow was wet with the tears she had never cried. 

**Yes, I'm a newbie, so be nice! Corny title, I know, but I was going to name it _The Color Black_, but that made me think of _The Color Purple_, and that just made me laugh. To be honest, this story really has no plot...yet, and I'm not even sure I'm ever going to finish it, because I have major spring fever and no time to do anything except write crappy English papers at the moment. So, basically, the fate of this story depends on my current boredom factor, so you're going to have to just bear with me. However, reviews do make me very happy... And I love you all for reading my crappy writing!**


	2. Chapter 2: Pink

Chapter 2: Pink

  
  
Roxie Hart was concerned. Ever since they had arrived in Detroit, her singing partner, Velma Kelly had not been herself at all. Of course, Roxie thought with a slight smile, she wasn't sure who exactly the other half of their double act was in the first place, but going on what she described flamboyantly, yet quite accurately as 'The Hotel and Nightclub Tour of the World' with her for several months now, she had begun to grow wise to some of Miss Kelly's old tricks.  
  
Roxie slowly let the smile slide away. Quite frankly, she was concerned about the older woman's recent behavior. For one thing, Velma hadn't so much as bossed a single bellboy, or Roxie for that matter, around since they had arrived at the next stop of The Hotel Tour. She hadn't lost her temper and started yelling at their latest ill-fated pianist over anything from arrangement to pitch once, or had a good long row with the owner of the club, or with Roxie for that matter.  
  
In fact, she'd been outright quiet lately, not that Velma was ever really loud. Roxie laughed at how badly she'd just contradicted herself, recalling the last time Velma and the manager of The Onyx had gone at it over their place on the night's program. Of course, Velma was loud, but she wasn't chatty like Roxie herself was.  
  
Velma Kelly was one of those people who had the rare gift of never saying a word too much, or a world too little for that matter. Somehow, that made Velma's words count for more than Roxie's, like a rare painting or vase, because hers came about far less often. Roxie had also noticed that Velma could talk for hours without ever really saying anything. Come to think of it, she hardly knew Velma at all, despite all their time together. That also worried her.  
  
Velma's silence unfortunately wasn't the only thing that had Roxie wondering. At the moment, she was fast asleep and still wearing all her makeup from the day before. If nothing else, Roxie had learned two things Velma Kelly was a fanatic about over the past couple of months: She took the welfare of her sensitive skin very seriously and always had to be awake and dressed, or rather undressed, at the crack of dawn.  
  
Normally, it was Velma who ripped the sheets off Roxie's pleasantly slumbering body with frightening precision and a sickly-sweet smile, overriding her groans and protests with a sarcastic "Good morning, sleepyhead," or on a day when Miss Kelly's mood was not quite so sunny, "You'd better get your ass out of bed, Hart, or we'll be late, and it'll be both of ours!"  
  
But this morning it was Roxie who was awake and dressed, waiting for the opportune moment to fling aside the heavy curtains and bathe the room in yellow. Just as she was preparing to do so, Roxie caught a glimpse of her partner's sleeping face, dappled by tendrils of morning sun.  
  
She had never seen Velma sleep before. Roxie had never understood how Velma ever got any sleep. Velma was a night owl and an early-riser, and Roxie was neither. She was struck by how vulnerable Velma looked when she was sleeping. Somehow, the absence of a seductive glare or half-closed eyes that said, "I don't give a shit," all too clearly made her look so innocent, as fragile as glass.  
  
However, Roxie's desire to introduce Miss Kelly to a little thing she liked to call karma was too tempting to resist for long. She flung open the curtains and cried, "Let there be light," with a girlish giggle. The fragile expression on her partner's catlike face shattered, and Roxie found herself looking once again into the cool face of the Velma Kelly she knew.  
  
"Jesus, Roxie," she muttered with heavy eyes. "What the hell are you doing up?"  
  
With a wonderfully phony smile Roxie shot back, "I'm afraid you've mistaken the time, Miss Kelly."  
  
Velma barely raised an eyelid. "What time is it, then?"  
  
"Eleven," Roxie said with relish. The expression on Velma's face was absolutely priceless, as she shot out of bed and into the bathroom, cursing and kicking things all the way. Now that was more like it.  
  
After saving a lamp that had been upended by her still sleep-addled rival's famous temper, Roxie Hart stood back and enjoyed every moment of it.

**I really needed a lighter chapter to balance out that last one and was it ever fun writing it! Thank you all for your reviews, because they're to blame for putting this authoress in such a light mood (or maybe it was just the elephant ears she ate on her class trip.) Well, I'd just like to say thank you. THANK YOU! Believe me, I could not have done it without you! (Sound familiar?) I promise there will be a lot more action in future chapters. I just needed to set the stage, put down a foundation, have fun, and...well damn those elephant ears!**


	3. Chapter 3: Gray

Chapter 3: Gray

  
  
The morning Velma Kelly saw through the windows of the taxi was a dreary one. Heavy clouds and skies blurred the world through the dirty glass into shades of gray, weighing down upon the lively city and turning sharp colors and smells into dull neutral, promising rain. Velma thought it was funny in a way, not that she was laughing. The weather couldn't have forecasted her own mood any better.  
  
But at the moment, she wasn't quite sure what annoyed her more, the kindred gray clouds out the window or the infallibly perky, and currently chattering blond half-pint to her right. She had no clue what Roxie was talking about, but that was all fine and dandy, because she got the impression that neither did Roxie. _I hope she doesn't swallow her tongue_, she thought petulantly, glaring at her partner's ever-present sugary smile as she chirped on like no tomorrow.  
  
Even after having several long months to get used to the younger girl's certain flightiness, Velma's relationship with Roxie was on and off as much as their names sang and danced their way in and out of in papers.  
  
Some days they laughed and teased each other like giddy schoolgirls, as tight-knit as sisters- Velma winced inwardly and searched for another word- and then the sun went down, and Velma had to sit on her hands to keep herself from committing another murder.  
  
And unfortunately, at this moment, as Roxie let out a vivid giggle for no apparent reason, Velma felt more like doing the latter. Instantaneously, she decided the oppressive weather would be a better waste of her remaining sanity than her giggling alter ego.  
  
In her current disposition, Roxie's giddiness and her gloom mixed just about as well as loud noises and hangovers, and Velma had definitely had enough of those to know what she was talking about.  
  
Velma looked up into her partner's face as her laugh broke on a nervous pitch. Sometimes she swore the only reason they bothered with talking was because Roxie would go postal if her tongue didn't get its daily workout, because she could see right through Roxie. When you were dance partners, learning to read each other's body language like a neon sign was next to inevitable.  
  
_Please, pleeease_, said Roxie's eyes, reminding Velma forcefully of a puppy begging for a game of fetch. _You can at least pretend everything's OK! Just talk and play along! Come on, Vel, you're scaring me here!  
_  
Velma felt a sudden jolt. So, little Miss Hart could see right through her, too. She wasn't sure she liked that idea. _No._ She admitted to herself what she would never say aloud. _I don' t dislike it. It scares me stupid._

The two flappers stared each other down like two avid card players, each trying to see behind the other's poker face.  
  
Velma's face was cool and expressionless, unnaturally so. And Roxie knew from experience that this usually meant she was hiding something. With Velma, it was the cooler the façade, the bigger the dilemma. And Roxie wanted to know what it was. She was sick of trying to fill the silence in the car on her own, while she watched her icy counterpart surround her pain with walls of stony composure.  
  
She just wanted to hear Velma tell her that she was sadly mistaken, and everything was fine. _But no,_ she admitted to herself. She didn't just want to hear Velma tell her she was all right. She also wanted to be able to believe it. She gave the older woman a pleading look.  
  
Roxie's face was tense, and her eyes were overlarge. Those were the puppy eyes if Velma had ever seen them, and rest assured, she had. As far as she was concerned, Roxie might as well have just said, "Come on, Vel. Pretend everything's just jake, even though we both know it isn't. It's not like your personal problems really even matter as long as I can look cute as a button while we make a thou or two." She knew Roxie would never actually say that, but from the way she was acting, she might as well have.  
  
Heavily hooded black eyes met liquid blue ones._ Play dead, Roxie. I'm in no mood for charades._ The wide dark eyes narrowed, but Velma didn't blink. Roxie was the first to flinch and look away.  
  
"What's eating you?" the smaller girl burst irritably, still not looking her broad-shouldered comrade directly in the eyes.  
  
"What do you mean?" Velma idly examined a formidably pointed blood-red nail. The syllables blended together lazily like the purring of a cat. She smiled bitterly to herself. If playing pretend were an Olympic sport...  
  
Roxie felt all the more flustered. It was the answer she'd wanted to hear, make no mistake but not one she found the least bit convincing. And somehow, that only made things seem worse.  
  
"Well, aren't you a live wire today! You," said Roxie, bad temper growing, "haven't said half a word to me all morning! That's what I mean!"  
  
"Why bother? You were doing plenty enough talking for the both of us."

Despite herself, a smile was beginning to curl her lips. She'd always privately thought it was funny when Roxie got mad. "Dry up, OK? I've got plenty of words direct from me to you, if you really want to hear them."  
  
She smiled in that rather evil looking way that would have sent anyone who didn't know Velma Kelly running like hell in the other direction. But even someone who didn't know Velma Kelly would have been able to tell that she was beating around the bush. _Drop it and leave it alone,_ her eyes said.  
  
Roxie made an indignant noise in her throat. _Wrong answer_. "For crying out loud, Velma! There's something that you just ain't telling me. Just admit it for chrissake!"  
  
"Screw off. It's nothing to you."  
  
Roxie's childlike face was set and serious, and any trace of a smile had vanished from Velma's. The chauffeur came around to open the doors of the car. But just before the slamming of two car doors cut off their conversation, voice soft, Roxie let the last shot fly.  
  
"That's where you're wrong."

**Oooooo, DRAMA!** **I **j**ust have to say, I hope you guys appreciate this chapter, because I went to hell (Michigan) and back to get it out for you! Not only have I been writing at midnight, cuz a.) that's when I'm inspired and b.) I have no other time, but I've been forced to write while my jock brother and his jock friends play an insane combo of tackle football and hide and go seek around me, so it would really make me feel loved if you reviewed this chapter! ;) **

**But thank you so much for your reviews, cuz they rock my world! And a special thanks to my soul sista Vikki Kelly, because it makes me feel so friggin' awesome that someone I think rocks also thinks I rock, if that makes any sense at all. (Hold hands now everyone, so you don't get lost!) I love to hear the sound of my voice way too much sometimes... So I hope you enjoyed the chapter, even though this last part prob'ly scared you away!**


	4. Chapter 4: Blue

Chapter 4: Blue

Velma had always found it very easy to lose herself when she was dancing, and today was no different. When she was danced, the world looked different somehow, almost as though she was looking at it through rose-tinted glasses. Everything that made her toss in her sleep at night was still there, but it was all like the many small cuts and scrapes she used to pick up playing with the boys as a child. She was aware of them, but it didn't hurt.  
  
She was also very much aware of Roxie beside her. She was tuned into her every move, and the rhythms of their bodies moved in perfect unison. She felt the blond girl relax beside her just as her own worry lines began to ebb away. After all, she wasn't Velma Kelly anymore, at least not for now. She was just the clicking of their tap shoes, the wailing of the trumpet, and the breathing of her partner beside her.  
  
It took her a while to realize it when the music stopped and even longer for her to remember who and where she was. She was shocked by how much time had gone by; she hadn't noticed it at all.  
  
She hadn't even noticed how hungry she was, not that she normally did. That was Roxie's job, and she had never failed at it. For such a half-pint, Roxie could sure put away an alarming amount of food.  
  
"I'm gonna go grab us something to eat before the next gig. Don't miss me too much!" Roxie teasingly turned and blew a kiss at the stage door.  
  
"Oh, don't flatter yourself, hon. I'll go just because I know you'll miss me much more." Velma awarded her a rare vampish smile, glad that dancing had wiped away enough of the morning's tension for them to act like complete dumb Doras together again.  
  
Roxie gave her a skeptical look, one pale eyebrow raised. Normally, Velma just snapped at her for interrupting their rehearsal for something as trivial as her stomach. "What are you smoking?" she said but not as like she was irritated. There was laughter in her high, soft voice.  
  
"Whatever it is, you can't have any of it!" laughed Velma, and without further preamble, she was out the door and onto the streets.  
  
Rain was coming down hard now, but Velma didn't mind. She'd always liked the rain, and she wasn't about to waste a thought worrying about getting her old training dress wet. As she walked, the heels of her shoes made music against the wet pavement, and everything she passed swam and blurred before with yet another memory.  
  
She wasn't sure what had possessed her to walk through the streets of her past in the pouring rain, because she was quite sure the memories that came to her now were not ones she wanted to revisit, but somehow they called to her. She wasn't going to run and hide from them. She wanted to be able to look her past in the eye and say, _I'm not afraid of you_. And what Velma Kelly wanted was normally what she did.  
  
She kept walking. She watched her past unfold before her as if it were someone else's story. A black-haired woman looked down upon her, face full of love and pain, held her, and sang a raspy lullaby.  
  
The woman's soft voice turned harsh. There was another voice there, too, a man's voice. He was shouting at the woman and she was shouting back. The cruel sound of a slap rent the air, and the shouting redoubled. She closed her eyes and pretended not to hear them.  
  
Velma tried to get a grip on herself, but it was as if her feet had a mind of their own, dragging her into a small old nightclub she knew too well. The place was in disrepair, and a faded sign reading, "Closed," was nailed above the doorway. She ignored the sign and pushed through the door.  
  
Her every step echoed on the old broken tile, as she walked closer to the small stage, with its velvet curtains hanging askew. She saw two raven- haired girls, arm-in-arm, bowing and smiling for the enthusiastic crowd. They looked as though there was nowhere else they'd rather be, and that was probably true. They bowed as one.  
  
"I've always wanted to hear people clapping like that for me," said one of the performers. Velma could see her beaming face and hear her voice above the noise of the crowd as clearly as if it had been yesterday.  
  
"Not for you," quipped the other, "for us!"  
  
"You're right," she agreed. "For us..."  
  
Their voices faded away as Velma turned and saw a petite girl standing beside her in the vivid crowd with the smile of a lioness who has just trapped her prey. Velma blinked and she was all alone in the faded speakeasy.  
  
She walked a little further, drawing closer to the memory she dreaded the most. She stared up at the barely-standing apartment building. Somewhere in her head, there were two shots, two screams, and a dark-haired girl in a black dress sat all alone in an alleyway in the pouring rain.  
  
Velma blinked and found that that was exactly where she was, in her soaking black training dress, staring out into the distance with a single tear in her eye. She brushed it away, suddenly remembering the reason she had left the theater in the first place. She ducked into a café, dried off, and made a run for the theater with a bag in her hand. She slowed her pace as she drew nearer to the stage door.  
  
Roxie was there to meet her, dressed for the show, and looking frazzled as Velma casually strolled in through the door.  
  
"What kept you, goddamnit? We're on in five minutes!" Roxie demanded, running nervous fingers through her wavy hair.  
  
"I got lost."  
  
It wasn't a lie.

**Thank you for all your reviews! They made me feel so light inside, I started doing a happy dance until I stubbed my toe on the computer desk and started swearing. My cat found the whole thing very amusing; you could tell! **

**Well, that's not the point. The point is, you are truly very kind, and if this authoress is ever famous with more novels poppin' out of her than Danielle Steele (Thanks KitKat, that one really made me laugh!) it'll be because of lovely readers like you! **

**For those of you who are wondering if there will be any romance in this story, cruel as I am, you're going to just have to wait and see. ;) And Sweet775, it's funny you should mention Les Miz, because I was actually kind of thinking of "I Dreamed a Dream" when I started writing this story. It was my solo for Chorale this year, and the last line, "Now life has killed the dream I dreamed," just kept echoing in my head for some reason when I started writing this story. Now, that's a weird coinkidink...Well anywho, hugs and kisses to all my readers, and there's an update coming real soon!**


	5. Chapter 5: Gold

Chapter 5: Gold

"Hurry! Come on! We're on in five minutes!" Roxie's pronouncement was followed by a volley of curses that, although she'd never let the other girl see it, made even Velma's frighteningly arched eyebrows climb higher.  
  
Velma scowled at her partner and continued lining her eyes in black. "Don't sweat it. We'll live" she said in one irritated breath.  
  
"Speak for yourself, will ya?" Roxie failed to look reassured. On the contrary, she was pacing frantically, and her wavy blond hair was rumpled from running her fingers nervously through it.  
  
"Quit casting kittens on me. I know what I'm saying." Velma looked away as if it were hardly worth her time to be talking to her in the first place.  
  
Roxie glared furiously at Velma. It was apparently the wrong thing to say. "Ya know what, Velma Kelly?"  
  
She paused as if waiting for Velma to say what back. She didn't. Velma frowned more deeply. Roxie had the most annoying habit of using her full name when she was annoyed, as if calling her Velma Kelly would make her the snobby starlet she had rivaled and hated instead of Velma, her dance partner and...well, sister. But that, Roxie thought, was an unfortunate choice of words. After all, Velma had killed her sister. She wasn't sure if she found that funny or frightening.  
  
"I may not act like I'm some damn queen bee, but I know what I'm talkin' about too! Hate to break it to ya, Velma Kelly, but you don't know nothing!"  
  
Velma's eyebrows rose again, this time in surprise, but this time she didn't hide them. Roxie was surprised, too. She didn't know why she was so angry all a sudden, but now everything that had been holding inside was just bursting out of her mouth.  
  
Velma quickly covered her chagrin. "Yeah? So does your old man. And I happen to be the expert here, so if you don't mind..." She went back to lining her eyes.  
  
"That is such bullshit!" burst Roxie. "You make us late, because you decide right before the show would be a great time for walking, and it's not like you've exactly been making friends with the manager of this club, anyway, then you nag on me! Yeah, you're the cat's meow, alright!" Velma continued to ignore her, still smudging the black eyeliner around her blacker eyes.  
  
Suddenly, everything from those smudged eyes to the ankle straps on her iridescent shoes made Roxie very angry. "Shit! Can you do that any slower?" She made a grab for the eyeliner pencil, causing it to streak across Velma's face. A comical black line stretched under her nose and up one cheek, like a slightly demented imitation of the kind of mustache Italian men always seem to have in cartoons.  
  
Roxie and Velma stared at each other for a moment, not saying anything, looking like children who have just been caught doing something naughty. Soundlessly, Velma snatched her eyeliner back from Roxie. A muscle in her cheek was twitching very badly. Roxie bit her lip as her mouth began to turn up at the corners.  
  
Keeping a perfectly straight face, Velma stood up and began to examine her face critically in the dressing room mirror. "I kind of like it," she said seriously. "But," she added coolly, composure never failing, "I think we should match." The tension between them shattered abruptly.  
  
Without warning, her catlike face broke into a smile both evil and playful, as she advanced upon Roxie with the makeup pencil in a clawed hand. Roxie squealed and dove out of the way, giggling. And just as Velma had managed to swipe a laudable black stripe across her playmate's face, the manager of the club himself burst into the dressing room, demanding, "What the hell is going on?"  
  
"Oh damn," said Velma innocently. "I was just about to give you a goatee, too." The two of them burst out laughing, sprawled on the floor with tears of mirth streaking black down their faces. They were both struck by how odd they must look, like schoolgirls masquerading as flappers, perhaps.  
  
"These people paid to see a show!" the manager fumed, his face purpling. He was quite a portly man, and violet was definitely not a flattering shade on him. "Do you realize how long they've been waiting?"  
  
"Well, then," Roxie replied solemnly, "I guess they're going to have to wait longer."  
  
"We're worth it," drawled Velma with the same mock somberness.  
  
The two of them were once again seized by laughter pains as the manager slammed the door in his temper.  
  
"And we're not even drunk yet!" Roxie giggled gleefully.  
  
"Which reminds me..."  
  
Velma smiled sinisterly and picked up a bottle of gin from the top of the Wardrobe. She took a swig then threw it at Roxie.  
  
"Catch."Five minutes later, the Detroit Pleasure Hall went wild as Miss Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly, put on the Ritz in beautiful matching costumes, mercifully devoid of matching facial hair, fake or otherwise. The two worked together particularly well that night, redefining perfect unison. Neither of them could believe the night had started with a fight, and when they moved, they moved as one.  
  
The crowd clapped and cheered as they took their final bows. Velma turned to Roxie, her face lit with a rare genuine smile.  
  
"It's the best thing in the world, Roxie," she said with a dreamy quality to her voice that was just as rare, "hearing all those people and knowing they're clapping for me!"  
  
"For us," Roxie rebuked firmly, but her eyes were sparkling. "They're clapping for us."  
  
"You're right," murmured Velma so softly it was amazing that Roxie could still hear her. "For us."

**Sorry, I know it's been a while, but now I'll be able to write a ton, because the only thing I'm doing this summer is interning at the local children's theater. And that's only on Wednesdays, so I'll be able to give my full and complete attention to this story! And I also know that this chapter is so happy it's kinda cheesy, but don't blame me, blame the Cherry Coke! I swear, that stuff DOES things to you! If you don't talk to your friends about Cherry Coke, who will?...Well, I'm now pleading two things (a. momentary insanity to explain those last few sentences (b. you to review this chapter, because your reviews rock my world and keep me off drugs like Cherry Coke!! I love you all!!!!**


	6. Chapter 6: Yellow

Chapter 6: Yellow

  
  
Roxie Hart felt so full of happiness, more happy than she'd been in a long time, more free and pure than she'd felt since she first let Fred Casely's slimy hands touch her ass. She could also feel Velma's own joy spilling over her walls of icy composure like a kettle of water starting to boil over.  
  
She felt so good mostly because of Velma's unchained bliss. She had been so afraid for a while that she was slipping away from her, slipping deeper and deeper, a victim to an illness of soul that Roxie could not name, nor cure.  
  
She had never seen her partner look this happy before, but still, Velma could not fool her. The thing that was eating the other girl from the inside was still there, whatever it was, and no amount of smiles, gin, and makeup could hide it.  
  
And somewhere under the booze and giddy laughter, it was starting to eat at Roxie, too. She would bring it up; she had to. Maybe then it would stop consuming them and leave them to their picture perfect evening.  
  
"Velma..." Roxie started awkwardly, "About what I said this morning..." Her voice trailed off.  
  
Velma's voice, drunken with contentment and gin, suddenly became harsh and strained. "What about it?" The defense gates were up.  
  
"Just, I just thought that...I was just wondering..." Damn, why was she stuttering? Velma didn't scare her. Well, Velma didn't, but what she might have to say did.  
  
Velma sensed her weakness. She smiled a smile that would have been sly had there not been so much pain and desperation underneath it. She held the bottle of liquor out to Roxie. There was still some left. "You know what, I have no idea what you're talking about."  
  
She smiled the smile of a thousand temptresses, and Roxie was trapped. She didn't want to rain on their perfect night. She wanted to drink it away until it hurt them no more. She wanted to pretend there was nothing wrong, even though she knew she couldn't. Velma's smile told her to forget it, and she wanted to. So she did. But it never forgot her.  
  
######

Roxie Hart sat up in bed with a start. She wasn't sure what had disturbed her slumber, but she did know that when she fell asleep, waking her was a feat the likes of which few had ever mastered. She'd have thought that if all she'd had to drink that night didn't keep her sleeping, all she had to hide from in the waking hours would easily shut her blue eyes until at least noon- or whenever Velma decided to wake her.  
  
But, in fact, that was exactly what had just happened. It was Velma's screams that reminded her numb mind what had woken her. It was Velma's graceful form that was thrashing on the floor as if she were being chased by demons in her sleep. It was Velma's blood staining the carpet.  
  
Roxie was suddenly wide awake as she ripped aside the sheets she'd so contentedly been wrapped in only moments ago, and began to shake Velma in a panic.  
  
She wouldn't wake. She kept thrashing and screaming like a demon from hell. She fought Roxie like a tiger, scratching and biting blindly.  
  
"Velma! Velma! Goddamnit, Velma! Wake up! Jesus Christ!" It took all the curses she knew before Velma's eyes opened, and several more before she lay still. But all the curses in blazes couldn't make her stop trembling. Nothing could change what Roxie saw, flooded in yellow, when she finally willed her shaking hands to turn a lamp on.  
  
Velma gazed up at her with the eyes of a deer caught in the headlights of speeding car, looking more vulnerable than Roxie had ever seen her. Roxie couldn't get over how small she looked, lying there on the floor, speechless for once in her life.  
  
Roxie wanted to throw her arms around her cold glass form, but she knew if she did, Velma would break into a thousand pieces before her eyes, the soft flawless craftsmanship of her ice-cold form shattering like a glass figurine dropped to the tile.  
  
But then she saw the way Velma was clutching her stomach, so frighteningly tight. She had never noticed before how Velma always covered her torso religiously. Now she did, and she knew why. The ghosts of numerous cuts and bruises decorated the pale stomach of the toughest woman Roxie Hart had ever known.  
  
And now she knew where the blood had come from. Red seeped from the reopened wound at Velma's fingertips, a cruel reminder that the past would never go away. No matter how many times she healed over, the scars would never leave her.  
  
Roxie knew she shouldn't, but she did anyway. She held Velma's delicate form to her, and prayed she wouldn't break. She could see in her eyes that she wanted to hide inside herself again, cover the scars with her flimsily nightgown and pretend Roxie had never seen her fall, but she couldn't. Roxie couldn't let her. She couldn't let her do it alone.  
  
Roxie held her tight, breathing in the smells of pain and weakness, smells that all perfume and self-control couldn't mask, until they became hers as much as they were Velma's. Then her voice emerged; steady even while the rest of her shook. It was so soft, but its firmness was as erasable as the scars on Velma's white torso.  
  
"Tell me everything."

**More very soon, I promise...**


	7. Chapter 7: White

Chapter 7: White

Velma felt a child again, lying there on the hard ground, as vulnerable as a bird's wings, wishing more than anything that its hard depths would swallow her up, that something, anything, would take her away somewhere else, anywhere else but there. But she had always secretly known that no matter what she did and how many prayers she said at night like the good little girl she'd never been, she wouldn't go anywhere until she prayed with her legs.  
  
She knew she could pray with her legs all she wanted, but that wouldn't change that her wings were too fragile to fly her anywhere else now, even if she had had a place to go. And her wings knew even before she had admitted it to herself that she couldn't fly away forever. Eventually she had to settle, she had to land. She couldn't run and hide every time her security was ripped from the ground like an oak in the storm. She'd known it all along. And she also knew she couldn't pretend for the life of her that Roxie had never seen her with broken wings.  
  
Roxie saw Velma's internal struggle all too clearly from her position on the floor. She could already see her gates of composure struggling to close, to lock shut and hide her tender heart behind the lifelong lie.  
  
Her face was devoid of emotion as she pried her hands from her chest, but Roxie could still hear her draw in a painful breath at the sight of the blood staining her hands. She wondered if she was in pain over the wound itself or whether she was merely remembering the last time she'd had blood on her hands.  
  
She could see now that the gates had caught a snag. That snag was her, Roxie Hart, sitting there, cradling her broken bird. How she saw right through her, saw how badly she wanted to push her away and how truthfully she knew she couldn't. Not this time at least.  
  
For a long moment, neither of them moved nor spoke. Then Velma finally broke, gave in to the embrace, and silent tears flowed down the brimming black slits that were her eyes and into Roxie's hair. There was no room to be ashamed, no way to stop as she cried out the tears that had been held back by the dam of her lie for too long, cried them out on Roxie's shoulder.  
  
The rare moment was frozen in time, the two women clinging to each other, clinging to all they had left of their crumbling worlds. Something in their lives was finally pure; white thread was woven into the winding tapestries of their time. Velma Kelly had broken, and Roxie was there, holding her together.  
  
But soon her teardrops slowed, her trembling stilled, and the world blurred back into Technicolor. The moment broke, but the feeling never went away. Suddenly, Roxie smiled sheepishly, and her grip loosened.  
  
"We must really look like a pair of dumbbells, lyin' here on the floor and cryin' like no one's business," she said with a soft smile, as she brushed tears from her eyes. She hadn't realized she was crying, too.  
  
Velma gave her a watery smile. "No more than we did a coupla hours ago with sideburns." They both laughed at that. The sound was soft, but you could tell it came from somewhere deep.  
  
Roxie's eyes strayed back onto the cut on Velma's side. It had left a long red shadow across her own pink nightgown. "We really should put somethin' on that." She disappeared into the hotel room's small bathroom and returned with disinfectant and bandages.  
  
Velma allowed herself to be half-carried to the couch by Roxie. For all of her legs and shoulder, she was startlingly light. Roxie began to clean the gaping cut, her eyes still on the older woman. _I'm listening._

"Listen, Roxie," Velma began gruffly, the intent of her tone muffled by its faintness, "there's something I need to tell you." Her face softened as Roxie's small hands gently caressed her tender side. Her voice followed suit. "I should've told you this a long time ago, but I guess I'm just gonna have to tell you now."  
  
Roxie didn't speak, but it was clear she was hanging on to every word.  
  
"I grew up in this shithole, and after seventeen years, I'd had enough. I put the petal to the metal and left it all behind me."  
  
Her face grew pained, and Roxie was sure her expression had nothing to do with the sting of the antiseptic. "I can tell ya', I knew then I'd never come back to this godforsaken place." She paused and stared into space with haunted eyes. "Just goes to show how much I know."

**Sniff, sniff Isn't that beautiful? I don't know how the bleeding heck I got in such a melodramatic mood (and no, Kit, it wasn't the hypothermia) but I figured I should just take it and run with it. Besides, I was too darn tired after beaching it all day to do anything else. But I just have to say (yes, again), that I completely LOVE all you guys for your reviews and support! God, I sound like I'm accepting an Academy Award or something... But it's true! It's your reviews that inspire me to write, (and yes, make very bad things happen to our innocent characters.) So, guess what I'm going to say next! **

**You're right! (At least I hope you are, or that would kinda defeat the purpose of this.) If you like, PLEASE REVIEW! Well, I definitely love hearing the sound of my own voice, so I'll let you go before I hurt someone, namely myself, but remember, Miss Coconut wants YOU... to REVIEW!**


	8. Chapter 8: Black and White

Chapter 8: Black and White

  
  
Velma's story started with a photograph. It was an old black and white picture, torn and yellowed, curling up upon itself with age. But Roxie could still see the faces of two teenage girls, smiling up at her like ghosts from a distant past. Her fingers traced the lines of their soft forms, musing.  
  
She knew she could just ask Velma any minute now who the girls were and what they had to do with them, but for now, she just wanted to imagine, to read their stories in their harshly beautiful faces.  
  
The girls looked very much alike, standing arm-in-arm in makeup and scant showy costumes that both gave them the impression of being much older than they were. They both had raven-black hair cut in short bobs and tough weathered faces.  
  
One of the girls was slightly taller, with a face that had the slanted green eyes, broad cheekbones, and prominent chin of a cat. She was striking, and even through the tint of the photo, Roxie could feel those green eyes blazing right through her. But such a ghostly aura hung around her that Roxie might as well have been gazing into the eyes of long dead royalty.  
  
But it was the other girl who caught Roxie's eye, the shorter one whose amber eyes glowed like the setting sun when she smiled. It was a smile that even any outsider could tell you didn't come around very often. Roxie was looking into the eyes of a younger Velma Kelly.  
  
"This is a picture of you and Veronica, isn't it?" Roxie said, surprised she could find her voice. But from the moment the words came out of her mouth, Roxie knew they were wrong. Back when she used to worship the ground they walked on, she had seen the other half of Velma's sister act, and she looked nothing like the girl in the picture.  
  
Velma laughed darkly. "If it were, I would've burned it by now. No, these sad Janes here are me and the damned closest thing to a real sister I ever had." Velma slipped into silence, eyes glazed as if she was lost inside herself, and Roxie reasoned, she probably was.  
  
Roxie felt a sudden need to press for details, to know everything there was to know about the girls in black and white who smiled as one.  
  
"I didn't know you had another sister."  
  
"I didn't," Velma said briefly.  
  
This was going to be harder than Roxie had thought, but she'd get it all out of Miss Kelly yet, even if she had to pull it out of her, thread by thread.  
  
"Who is she?"  
  
Velma's eyes flickered mournfully, still staring into something that wasn't there, almost as if she was unaware of Roxie, sitting there beside her on the velvet couch, trying to hold the gaze of those lost eyes. Then she spoke.  
  
"She was Vera Ryan, the only friend I ever had in this goddamned city. Her real name was Verity, but the name wasn't for her. She also had a sister named Chastity, poor whore. Me and Vera used to do all kinds of crazy things, and we never gave a shit about truth or purity. It was all just a load of baloney, and damn if we both didn't know it all along."  
  
Velma had lit up a cigarette and took a long drag on it. Roxie had a wild urge to knock the thing out of Velma's hand; she hated it when she smoked. But she resisted, and Velma went on.  
  
"By the time we were seventeen, we were singing and dancing at every juice joint we could gimp our way into, getting so bent we could hardly drag ourselves home at night, and sleeping with a different lucky cake eater every night. Who was gonna tell us that we were wrong to live life? Why should we give a damn about truth, honesty, and class when we were free? And we were good. The audience loved us, and we never stopped loving them. Why should we have cared that we were a bunch of sluts when life was never better for us? We were just the daughters of dirt-poor immigrants. Where else did we have to go?"  
  
Velma paused. Her eyes were blazing, and she was rigid with indignant anger.  
  
"I'll tell ya', Roxie," she went on, for the first time giving a sign she actually remembered she was there, "she was the only thing that kept me from getting on a train outta here the first chance I got." The fire in her eyes had died into embers.  
  
"But you keep saying, _she was_ like, like, well... You can't mean that she..." Her voice died in her throat.  
  
Velma's face went painfully taut, and she merely nodded as if the words cost her too much. Finally, the words came rolling slowly out of her mouth, painstakingly slow, as if she were speaking to herself more than she was to Roxie.  
  
"Vera Ryan has been dead for a long time."  
  
Roxie didn't know what to say. What could she say? She felt a strange sorrow for the girl who stared fiercely at her through the black and white. She felt as if she'd known her in a way, even when she was just a faded figure in a frayed photograph.  
  
Roxie decided she didn't need to say anything at all. She moved hesitantly closer to Velma, and put an arm around her shoulders, afraid that any moment, the other woman would shrug off her embrace and find another excuse to move away, to be alone.  
  
But she didn't. She let her head rest on Roxie's arm, closing her eyes tightly. Her long black eyelashes licked her bloodless cheeks, the small flood of tears sending rivulets of black dancing down her face.  
  
Roxie could hear her heart beating, a sound foreign and comforting at the same time. She could feel the slender muscles in Velma's neck and shoulders, caressed every one as her companion's heart slowly relaxed in her chest. Just Roxie being there was enough.  
  
After a while, the other flapper sat up and dabbed her face with Roxie's handkerchief. Then, after drawing in a breath, Velma Kelly started her story at the very beginning.

**Many thanks to Rachael for betaing this chapter. I can only hope it didn't hurt your eyes too much! OK, I don't normally do this, because I think it's very annoying when people beg for reviews, but PLEASE REVIEW!!!!! I might not be able to update for a while, because my bff is coming in from Virginia to visit on Saturday, and almost right after that I'm going on vacation. However, reviews will make me try very hard to get another chapter up before Saturday...;) And all ye be warned, the next chapter contains very overly dramatic material that will either make you laugh or cry, depending on your personal take on angst.**


	9. Chapter 9: Red

Chapter 9: Red

So many times had Roxie run her pale fingers over the old photograph that it curled feebly around them, its black and white surface pulsing with a strange energy, but she wasn't looking at the picture anymore. What would be the point when the young smiling faces in it were tattooed into her mind, smiles turned garish by time and tragedy, when the name _Vera Ryan_ danced across her consciousness like the ghostly tinkling of a long-gone bell?  
  
Even if the fierce green laughter of mirth-narrowed eyes did not still ring in her head, Roxie's own blue ones wouldn't be staring at the picture any longer. She was too busy staring at Velma.  
  
Velma, in a strange way, was not much different from the black and white photograph. Both were as mysterious and vague as the dark side of the moon and neither seemed exactly real. Both were like heroes of a wild myth, the idols of a dreamer strong enough to pave their stories with her words. But neither seemed realistic enough to reach out and touch, only to imagine and worship from a far. But tonight, the darkness was pealed from the moon, and the mysterious light now danced unveiled. Tonight, Velma Kelly was real. Roxie reached out and touched her arm.  
  
"I guess you could say me and Vera had a lot in common from the start," said that voice from a distance. "Both the daughters of dirt-poor immigrants who were both good-for-nothing bums who drank gin like it was water and couldn't give a shit about us. We never knew our mothers. Vera's died in childbirth, and mine left my dick of a father like I'd always wanted to when I was three. Apparently, she'd been sleeping around for a year or two and the lucky vamp got knocked up and ran for it. I heard him yelling at her when he found out, but I ignored it. I've always known that big girls don't cry, and when you do, you're just asking for someone else to come around and break your heart. I've hated her all my life for leaving me behind with him, but I never really could hate the damn slut. Sometimes I remember her singing me to sleep and smiling at me like I was all that mattered."  
  
Velma's voice broke as the strains of a raspy lullaby filled her ears. She looked at Roxie, who comforted her with eyes, then plunged defiantly on.  
  
"All I know about her is what I was told, and my dear father never failed to mention how much I looked like her. He always hated me for it, too, and he never gave a half-cocked damn about hiding it. He was never even sure I was his child, but he did know that I was exactly like my old lady. Sometimes when he got really drunk, he'd think I was her, and nothing I said could make him think otherwise."  
  
Her words hung in the air like moonlight, throwing the still angry scars and bruises into sharp relief before Roxie's eyes.  
  
"Oh Velma," she murmured softly, reaching for her in the darkness, as if she could pull it all away with her fingers. But she couldn't say much more.  
  
Velma was real now, no longer the girl from the black and white picture and the yellowing playbills, but the one akin to the truth. Roxie was seeing Velma in Technicolor now. She knew she had to open her eyes for both of their sakes, but she still wasn't sure she liked it.  
  
"Veronica was always my father's favorite," Velma went on bitterly, saying the words father and Veronica like they stung her lips. "She was just like him, brainless, egotistical, and mean as a bearcat. She was always a little bitch, but she still made everyone sure how perfect and wonderful she was. The little brownnoser could get away with everything, and still pin it all on me. The louse could never keep her mitts off my business, so when I got pregnant, she knew about it."  
  
Roxie gasped, unable to stop herself. "You, what?"  
  
Velma smiled despite herself. "C'mon, Roxie. It can't come as that much of a shock to you! I never knew who the lucky Johnny who got me knocked up was, because I'd screwed every man from there to Lansing by then, but I was sure as hell I was pregnant. And she caught me throwing up right after Vera and I got back from the hospital. And since she could never keep that honking nose of hers out of my business, right after that she caught us performing in a local nightclub. So, like the damn snitch she always was, she went running to my father. She told him everything. And that night, he came home from work drunk."  
  
Roxie's eyes went wide, and she stuffed down the exclamation fighting to get out, eager yet frightened to hear what Velma would say next. She could tell from the increasing hardness of the woman's face that she was drawing closer to a road that pained her to walk.  
  
"Vera was there when he came home. I didn't think he'd be back until later, so we were both there, having a good laugh over all the socks we'd blown off at our latest act. He was more drunk than I'd ever seen him before, and he was mad as hell. He kept thinking I was my mother, because now that I was pregnant, he saw more of her in me than ever. He would occasionally realize it was me and yell at me about singing in the speakeasies and getting pregnant. He kept calling me a slut, calling me by my mother's name," Velma's voice wavered like the light of a dying candle, curling into smoke, lifeless.  
  
"He always kept a gun in the house, for protection he said. And he was just so angry that night..." Her voice trailed off, sending shivers down Roxie's spine. "He wanted to kill me that night. He wanted me to die. And he tried. I kept telling Vera to leave. It wasn't her problem, but we were always more of a double act than was good for us."  
  
Roxie felt herself shaking. She wished vividly now she had never looked at that picture, because she could see the story unrolling now before her eyes, knew what had happened before Velma told her, saw their faces all too clearly.  
  
"I don't know if the bastard blamed Vera too, or if he was just so damn drunk it didn't matter to him which one of us he shot." Velma's voice was shaking with anger, and Roxie could feel it pulsating through her like fire. "I can still see him, eyes mad, advancing upon us with his gun, screaming like the damned." The words came out shaky now too, somehow stuck in her throat.  
  
"What happened?" Roxie whispered in horror, even though they both knew she was asking a question she already knew the answer to.  
  
Velma shook her head as if trying to clear it. Her amber eyes shone in the dim light like river stones, saturated by its eternal flow, except even stones never looked this dead. A rock could not look haunted.  
  
"He killed her." The words dropped like stones into the current. Roxie saw the cat's face of Vera Ryan, all the laughter drained from it, standing tall and defiant then falling, falling down, fierce green eyes closed forever.  
  
"I wanted to kill him! I wanted to watch him die! I wanted the goddamn bastard to burn in hell!" Her anger roared up like fire in a bellows. It was beyond screaming, beyond shaking, beyond swearing, beyond it all. It blazed in Roxie, too, then curled itself into the ashes of sorrow as quickly as it had roared up.  
  
"I ran away before the trial against my father. I didn't even stay for her funeral. I just couldn't. I ran away through the rain, got as far away as I could. I thought if I ignored it, it would go away, but now I know what a damn fool I was to think I could hide from myself. I never even cried for her."  
  
The grief in her eyes was unbearable.  
  
"I thought I could be strong, that nobody ever had to know. I swore to myself I was tough, that I didn't cry. I didn't know anything, because you can't be strong all the time. You just can't."  
  
Velma turned away. Roxie drew her closer, not about to let her slip away again. She held her firm and soft with her arms and her voice.  
  
"It's not too late to cry."  
  
The hotel room was quiet then, apart from the long overdue sobs of Velma Kelly and Roxie's gentle whispering. Yet the air buzzed with the rouge-red weight of the truth until morning found them fast asleep, blond on black, heads resting against each other, dappled by the scarlet rays of dawn.

**Long, long one, I know! I apologize now for any possible repetitive metaphors. Two in the morning, need I say more? This may be the end, but I might write a final chapter just to tie up the loose ends. What do ya'll think? And many thanks to VKCF for betaing this one, because to go with whole two in the morning thing, me posting something without having someone edit it is pretty dangerous! And if you're nice and review...Evil grin I might write a companion or two... It's all up to you! **


	10. Chapter 10: Technicolor

A/N: Yes, people. This is it; this is the final chapter! I'll take this moment to thank everyone for their support (and reviews) and apologize for such an uncannily _Big Fish_-like ending that will thoroughly convince all of you that Velma has been spending _way_ too much time with Roxie. OK, I'll stop dissing myself right now before I give any of you ideas... (Looks around in mild paranoia) But truthfully, I LOVE ALL OF YOU! If it weren't for you reviewers, this story would never have been written! And I am proud to announce that, at last, I have finally finished a long-term story! Sound the bugles and sing the alleluia chorus, and what a combo! And you way wanna keep your eyes peeled for a new romance story by me...but that's all I'll say at the moment... OK, I'll stop yakking now and let you read...and review... Hint, hint!

* * *

Chapter 10: Technicolor

When Velma woke up, it took her a while to place where she was. She stretched like a cat and massaged her neck, which was aching from using Roxie as a pillow. She didn't know what time it was, but it wasn't as if that really mattered, not when she had no idea who she was.  
  
She just felt so confused. If was almost as if she had split into two separate personalities, one of them that was the Velma the world knew, the mirthless murderess who had taken the lives of the two people in the world who had mattered to her most without the blink of an eye, who was tough as they came, never shed a tear, and never needed nobody.  
  
But perhaps that was just the Velma Kelly of legend; because there was another girl by that name there at the moment, the one whose eyes were red and mascara was streaked from crying out her tormented soul on Roxie's shoulder. She knew very well that she was Velma Kelly, but which one was a mystery to her in this equally unknown hour.  
  
Of course, she'd always been an enigma to anyone brave or stupid enough to try to get under her skin, but it had never occurred to anyone that the mysterious Velma Kelly was also an enigma to herself.  
  
So she sat there in the unmasked hour, trying to untangle the winding contradictories that were her thoughts. She felt relieved in a way that she had told Roxie. At least she knew that there was someone who understood her, even if she didn't understand herself.  
  
Yet, telling her story aloud seemed to be inviting it back into her thoughts, her life even. And now that Roxie knew, she was weaker. She couldn't pretend she was immortal anymore, because Roxie knew the truth. Velma hated when people saw her vulnerable. It was a part of her she preferred to chain up in the confines of her own soul, and she'd gotten good at it, far too good.  
  
But it was perhaps a blessing in disguise that Roxie knew now. Roxie wouldn't expect her to be perfect. And now at least one person fully understood the mystery that was Velma Kelly. As much as she would prefer to believe otherwise, she couldn't keep everyone out, especially when they wormed their way so close to her frozen heart. She could try, but she could not make her facade last forever, no matter what.  
  
But then, she reasoned with herself, hadn't Roxie seen right through her from the start? Wasn't that why she had been so attracted to, yet so repelled by the newest little jazz killer from first confrontation? She had hated how that little and seemingly harmless blonde had put the whole world she had struggled to build for herself at bay, not to mention how forcefully the way Roxie's sugar-coated persona carefully hid the mean-streak within reminded her of Veronica.  
  
But at the same time, Velma loved her more than she felt comfortable with, because while their outer wrappings were as different as night and day, Roxie was an awful lot like her, too.  
  
Velma sighed as she gazed down into Roxie's peaceful, sleeping face. Roxie let out the soft content moan of a sleeping child and curled closer to Velma, her angel hair catching the light and spinning itself into gold. When she awoke, she'd ask questions. She'd want details now that Velma's story was out in the open and putting them there hadn't killed her. And Velma knew that she wouldn't have answers for most of the questions Roxie asked.  
  
She'd want to know what happened to Velma's child. That Velma didn't know herself. She knew only what she remembered, how it broke what was left of her ragged heart once again when she had left the baby, that child who was too much like her mother, at an orphanage, and how those fierce almond eyes had stared up at her, a mirror image of the ones that gazed down upon the infant. Come to think of it, by now she would be the same age her mother had been when her already teetering world had finally come down upon her. That is, if she was even still alive.  
  
Roxie would ask after what became of her father. She didn't know that either, and she wouldn't waste a care on it, except to hope that his fate had been something truly awful. And her mother? To say the least, Velma had long believed that mystique ran in her family.  
  
And why had she agreed to do a double act with the sister she had hated so much? How and why had she met Charlie, that dirty scumbag, and married him? Velma could answer those questions, and there was only one answer that was one word long. Desperation.  
  
And Roxie already knew the rest of the story. She wouldn't have to waste her breath asking about the murders, because she already knew exactly how that felt in the most direct way. It took one to know one, and know her she did.  
  
Overtaken by a sudden bout of sleepiness she was sure had nothing to do with her physical welfare, Velma snuggled closer to Roxie's soft sleeping form and laid her head back down.  
  
She dreamed. It was the first good dream she'd had in a while, a soaring uplifting dream that at the same time, seemed to have all the answers she'd been searching for. And they had been within her all along, had she reached far enough to touch them. And now they danced under her closed eyelids like a runaway cabaret show.  
  
_She was singing and dancing onstage. She was doing it alone, and she was good. Her movements were so smooth, almost fluid, and words to a song she had never heard before were now flowing easily from her lips...  
_  
While truckin' down the road of life, 

Although all hope seems gone,

I just move on, I move on.  
  
When I can't find a single star,

To hang my wish upon,

I just move on,  
  
I move on...  
  
_The audience was considerably large, and only then did it occur to her that she knew every face in the crowd. There was Veronica and Charlie, arms around each other, beyond concealing their obvious intimacy. There was every stage manager and lucky man-whore she'd ever slept with and yelled at, District Attorney Harrison, even the police who had caught up with her after the last time she'd performed alone, and of course, her father, completely still, yet thoroughly disturbing in his presence alone. They yelled threats and curses at her, their faces distorted with hatred. But she hardly heard them. As far as she was concerned, they weren't even there. She couldn't waste her time on them, not when she had an act to perform.  
  
So, she just kept on singing, pouring her heart and soul into it, and drinking in the pure unadulterated joy of performing something real. Then she finished, her joy reaching its peak, as she struck her final pose.  
  
The nightclub was garishly silent for a moment as the angry faces from her past glared at her, singled out and vulnerable beneath the spotlight's glow. Then from somewhere in the audience, Vera and Roxie rose, arm in arm and smiling. Velma was struck by how they clashed, innocent, little, childlike Roxie and tall, dark, intimidating Vera, but somehow they went together. They stood, lone beacons of light in the darkness of the hopeless parade of Velma's past, and they applauded.  
  
Then, two more members of the audience made themselves separate from the silent baleful multitude. A woman with silver-flecked black hair smiled apologetically up at her and brought her firm dark hands together. All the resentment locked up inside her melted away as Velma looked down at her mother's face.  
_  
I understand, Mother, _her eyes said,_ I understand.  
  
_The girl beside her raised her bowed raven-haired head, and stared boldly at Velma. She couldn't have been more than seventeen, but her poise and demeanor were far beyond her years. Velma's breath caught as she met the eyes of her daughter._  
  
_The girl only flashed an eerily familiar crooked grin at her._ I understand, Mom. _Her hands then added to the sweet harmony of the applause.  
_  
_Then Mama appeared, smile as big as her figure, yet motherly and proud.  
_  
_...Then, Billy, shaking his head like he could never quite believe her._

_...Then all the murderessess from the Cook County Jail..._

_Then..._  
  
_And in the very center of it all were Vera and Roxie, clapping vigorously and laughing as the ovation grew and grew, girlish giggle and deep-throated howl blending like music. Velma felt like laughing now herself, so full of a joy that was not limited by gravity. She turned her nose up at the still sneering ghosts of her past. She didn't need them, they didn't matter, and she was never as alone as she had thought. So she laughed that rare treat of a laugh and took center stage._  
  
_Velma bowed._


End file.
